


To the Future

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Dragons, Far West, M/M, Magic, Post-Canon, Steampunk, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 16:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10902951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: To save Arthur from Camlann Merlin travels far and wide.





	To the Future

**Author's Note:**

> Thanking my beta, Tari_sue, who got this into shape and caught all my mistakes. 
> 
> For my artist, quiltineb, who is so gifted it'll take your breath away and whose art is so life-like and magnificent she was an inspiration. Humbly, rotrude. 
> 
> **Link to artwork:** [Artwork for Reverse](https://quiltineb.tumblr.com/post/160657716468/my-artwork-for-merlin-reverse-big-bang-thanks-to)

[](http://s845.photobucket.com/user/pouletroti/media/farwest_0057.jpg.html)

Merlin didn't remember what had happened after Arthur's death. He recalled the event itself, every moment of the long journey that had brought them to the shore of the Lake of Avalon, every step taken in that direction, but none of what had happened afterwards, after he'd set Arthur on fire and he'd watched the raft he been on be enveloped by flames licking at the afternoon sun. 

He must have wandered then, his eyes too heavy with tears, his gait shuffling like that of a man tired beyond comprehension. What direction he took was unknown to him. Didn't Arthur say he was hopeless when it came to orientating himself? _Wouldn't be able to find your own bum, isn't that right, Merlin?_ Arthur had been right, of course.

Merlin knew he'd been through woods; the sweep and heft of them had towered over him just as surely as the highest pinnacles of Camelot Castle. He'd been aware of streams that slaked his thirst just when his throat was at its most parched, their waters bubbling past in crystalline swirls. He'd marched uphill, the ground gritty underfoot, the path climbing. 

That was when he must have come to this cave. It was not the Crystal one. This one was bare of such natural ornaments. The walls were plain, uneven rock, shadows playing along their surfaces. There was a skeleton in the corner, a big one with an elongated snout. It must have been a bear once. Perhaps Merlin too would end up like that, a skeleton in a cave, keeping away unwary travellers.

Dabbing at his tears, Merlin blinked. His body ached all over, from his toes to the top of his head. He was light-headed, weak in the limbs. He didn't know whether that was because he hadn't eaten in days – ever since – or whether the pain was taking over all higher functions. He couldn't stem it, and he couldn't hold it in. 

It stabbed at his heart and punctured holes in his skin. It tore at his magic and undid his soul. He hadn't thought you could suffer so, as if you were stretched thin, and the parts of you that mattered were scattered and broken. But so it was. 

On this third day, Merlin got up. He looked around, gazed at the light that shafted into the cave. In a voice broken by disuse, Merlin said, “I am going to do something about this, Arthur.” Speaking his name seemed like a violation of some sacred law. But Merlin couldn't refrain. He hadn't talked since he'd lost him, but now, after the first wash of grief had blown over, he could say his name.

It still felt as though Arthur was there, ready to laugh at him, ready to sound annoyed. It seemed strange that he wasn't, but that only fed his purpose. “I'm going to get you back.”

With a stick, he fashioned out of elder, he travelled northwards and then eastwards. He crossed forests and fields; forded rivers and boated across lakes. He moved from one kingdom to another. Sometimes he was challenged, archers pointing their bows at him, horsemen their swords. But Merlin swept them all aside with a touch of his magic. Now that Arthur knew, there was no point hiding. A small boat that rocked from side to side took him to Ynis Mon.

The temples were all in ruins, broken columns pointing to the sky, the walls gone, nature encroaching in their place. But the fountains still ran and the altars still stood. The air still crackled with the magic of the place and Merlin's own answered in kind. 

There were no streets on Ynis Mon. The buildings shot off the sea and perched on top of cliffs and above oceans of fog. Their pinnacles vied for the moon. Their foundations were rooted in the earth, in the soft, green soil of the isle, in its turf, in its rock.

Merlin walked along the deserted lanes, the paths that, once beaten, were now smudged and overgrown. He found the altar. Vines grew around it and flowers. A crack split it in the middle, but it still stood.

Spine bent with the miles he'd walked, Merlin trudged towards it. He knelt and, head dipped, said, “I've come here to bring Arthur back.”

The voice that answered was disembodied but feminine. “What is done cannot be undone. Arthur rests in Avalon till the day he's called forth.”

“No, you don't understand.” Merlin dared look up. “It's all wrong. Arthur needs to rule over Camelot and bring about peace.”

“Another rules over Camelot now,” said the voice. “She is fair and true.”

No, no one could replace Arthur. There was nobody Merlin could see on the throne of Camelot other than him. “He has to restore magic and forge new alliances. He has to make the kingdom great.” Merlin had dreamed of this since Kilgharrah had promised. He'd dared imagine how their future would be and it had had given him a reason to live. Without it Merlin was bereft. “Please.”

“I cannot change the past, Emrys.” The tone was final. Merlin's request had been denied. “I can only look to the future.”

“I'm not asking you to.” Merlin had thought about this all the way here. He saw no other solution. “I'll use all my magic to go back to the past and make sure Arthur doesn't die.” If he relived the events that had led to Camlann, he would certainly find a way to stop Mordred and Morgana. “You won't have to lift a finger.”

“Emrys,” the voice answered. “You're the most powerful warlock this earth has ever known. You'll find just how with time. But there's one thing you cannot undo and that is time.” Merlin was about to object but the entity must have known, for she stopped him right at the gates. “It spins ever onwards, taking with it plants and animals, even men. It rolls forward unchanged whether you want the minute speed past or live it to its utmost potential. Stop it, you cannot. Much less rewind it.”

“If I don't—” The consequences of that premise seemed clear to Merlin. “Arthur will die.”

“He already did.” There was steel in the entity's tones though curbed by gentleness. “Live, Emrys. Put your magic at the service of others and wait unto the day Arthur returns.”

Merlin couldn't. He didn't know how long that was. And Merlin could hardly bear it as it was, this separation. It tore at him. For the past ten years there hadn't been a moment Merlin hadn't thought about Arthur, made provisions for him, lived side by side with him. Having no more of that, no more moments to look forward to, left him bereft. “I must try this.”

“Then do so without the support of the old gods, Emrys.”

Merlin went up the highest hill he could find. He looked at the land, at the scope of it. Mountains and seas and rivers connecting the ones to the others. He saw this all and felt it in his bones. He was part of it and it was a chunk of him. Like his magic was. He found it at his fingertips. It was easy to summon it, to discharge it through the staff he'd brought along for the purpose. 

The earth cracked and the sky thundered and the veil between worlds became visible. Merlin fed it his magic. He could feel it issuing from him and flowing outwards. The veil ripped. And Merlin could see snippets of his past as it happened. 

He could see himself in Ealdor as a child. He could glimpse himself on his first day in Camelot. He took in his father's death all over again. He was witness to all of this but couldn't step in. He couldn't insert himself in it. There was no choice but to throw himself in blind. To jump between the folds and hope he ended up some time close to Arthur's last few days. That would be best in that he would have time to effect changes, to make sure he didn't get trapped in the Crystal cave, to ensure that he fought the battle side by side with Arthur, protecting him every step of the way.

Closing his eyes, Merlin threw himself between the folds of time and hoped for the best. 

****** 

He was in a wasteland; he couldn't describe it otherwise. For as far as the eye could see red earth stretched, pocked by stones and pebbles, littered with skeletons of dead horses, cows. Vegetation there was almost none. In the distance Merlin could spot a short stump of something green, with leaves to it so thin they were needles, but it didn't look like any tree or bush he'd ever seen before. He wasn't sure even Gaius could name it, and if he couldn't, then Merlin would be at a loss to. 

There was no point trying to; it wouldn't help in his quest. The sun a perfect orb in the sky, it was baking hot. Its rays hit Merlin's skin with all their power. Despite this, he took to walking. He didn't know in which direction he should go. They all looked alike. Packed russet earth extended for miles and miles. But on Merlin went, crossing the expanse in front of him. 

Putting one foot in front of the other, he walked for hours, not knowing where he was going, just certain that the magic had worked, though in unexpected ways. He wasn't anywhere close to Camelot, that he could tell. This was no landscape he knew. But he felt the shift in his bones, the difference in the very air he breathed. He had travelled in time. He could not tell where he was yet, but he could tell he had succeeded. 

He was sure if he kept on going he would come upon Camelot eventually. He just hoped he did that in time to save Arthur. He had no idea how long he still had. He wanted to believe he had at least three or four days time to change events. However, he could do none of that unless he reached the citadel. 

He could do nothing but march.

The sun moved on the horizon line. It went further and further down. As it did, the landscape didn't change one bit. It went from yellow to orange to purple and mountains rose in the distance, but the desert didn't give way to plain, to forest, to brook.

His legs gave way. His muscles contracted painfully. He had to stop. He crumbled to his knees. He only got back up to a standing position because he couldn't give up. If he did, he might just resign himself to living a life without Arthur.

He found shelter amid an outcropping of rocks. There was a ledge with an overhang and he laid himself down. With the stars as his canopy, he fell asleep on a bed of red granite, cradling his head on his arms.

The next day he set off early. He found the village at around midday. He was so thirsty and his tongue was so fat in his mouth that the first thing he did was challenge a horse for the right to drink from a trough. The water tasted vile, full of particles he'd rather not think of, with a brackish after-taste even a horse should not be subjected to. But it did its job and Merlin no longer felt like he was dying.

When he was a little better, he looked around. This village was odd. It developed along the axis of a straight road. Most of the constructions were wooden. There were a few houses, a couple of stories high and with unusually large windows. There was a farrier working at one end of the street and a carpenter at the other. But there was no keep. There were no towers, no knights at large. Right in front of him a tavern sat. It stood right at the mouth of an alley that cut through the buildings lining the street. In bold letters a word was written. At first Merlin couldn't decipher it, but his magic told him what that assemblage of vowels and consonants meant. Saloon. Not that that helped. The term had no significance for him. 

A two story inn towered over every other building in town except the windmill, which he could see rising in the distance. A shop selling general merchandise occupied one side of the street. In the midday sun it was empty, with the owner sitting on a chair outside, his strangely shaped hat shading his eyes. He was snoring. 

Knowing he would get no information out of this man, Merlin opted for the tavern right across. Someone would point him to Camelot in there.

A barmaid sat playing an instrument that made sweet music and belting out songs for the crowd of tipsy patrons idling at the tables. The barkeep stood behind the bar, cleaning irretrievably dirty glasses with such laziness he would have made the owner of the Rising Sun proud. A drifter sat slumped over a table in the corner, sleeping away the warm afternoon, while girls in scanty dress standing on the landing above watched the comings and goings. To a man, the individuals in the room wore strange contraptions at their belts in place of swords.

Asking himself no questions, Merlin trudged to the bar. If there was one thing Gwaine had taught him it was how to deal with barkeeps. It was easy, he said. Just smile and proffer coin. Road weary as he was, Merlin could only crease his lips somewhat, but he still placed a silver piece on the counter. It was the last he had, the last that had come with his pay as Arthur's servant. He'd spent the rest on trifles when he was in Camelot. Then Morgana had sprung her trap on him and he'd had no time to keep track of his earnings. It was just lucky he had something left in his pocket. “Good host,” he said, needing to ingratiate the man. “I need to know where we are and how far from Camelot.”

His magic worked. It oozed in waves off him and touched the barkeep, whose lingo was changed into a clear answer. “We're in New Town.” His eyes narrowed with suspicion and his mouth curled in distaste. “There's no Camelot from here to Monterrey. I don't know what kind of township you're talking about. Maybe it's in California. Never heard of it anyhow. It's not close to these parts.”

Merlin sweated cold. It wasn't possible. He'd time travelled, surely, but he couldn't have space travelled as well. He had no idea how long he still had, but he had to find out how far he was from Camelot. If he was in Mercia – these people didn't dress like Mercians, however – there was still a chance. On horseback he could make it in a few days. If he didn't sleep, he might curtail that time. “It's very important.”

“Can't do anything about that.” He paused, then added, “Stranger.”

Merlin knew he shouldn't mention it, not with Morgana's spies lurking around as they did nowadays. But if he didn't risk something, he'd get nowhere. And he'd risk anything for Arthur. “Look, what I'm doing is for the King. I hope you're a loyal subject.”

The barkeep looked at him like Merlin had grown two heads. “I ain't standing for no king. We're long rid of England and proud.”

“Angleland.” Having seen Geoffrey's map in the library, Merlin was aware of the Angles as a population that occupied lands on the continent. Some of them raided, like the Saxons did, looking for loot and territory just like them. But they'd never had a land of their own to call England. “I've never heard of that word.”

“Then you're fucking ignorant.” The barkeep gave the counter a lazy polish. “Anyhow, I'm a free Arizona man, and I will stand for no king.”

“Arizona?” Merlin said, repeating the sound though it meant nothing to him. “Where's that? Around Caledonia? South of it?”

“Caledonia ain't here, that's for sure.” The barkeep spat behind the counter, which couldn't have done much for the hygiene of the place. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Merlin felt he maybe had to spell it out. “The Kingdom of Camelot. I'm King Arthur's servant.”

The barkeep made a face. “I still don't know what you're talking about, man.”

“Old wives' tales,” said a man slumping at one of the tables, munching on sunflower seeds. “That's what he's at.”

“Old wives’ tales?” Merlin shook his head. “No, it's not. You don't understand.” Merlin wasn't sure how to explain either. “My King is in danger. I have to get to him.”

“He's completely whack, that's what he is,” the man who'd spoken before said. “Or drunk off his ass. Either way I'd let him be.”

Merlin wanted to protest that. He was by no means drunk. It was like one of Arthur's accusations, saying he'd been to the tavern when he was only making sense. “I see I made a mistake. This must be a faraway kingdom and—”

The barkeep said, “This ain't no kingdom. This a free state.”

“The United what?” This was an entirely new term to Merlin. Arthur had talked about wishing all the kingdoms of Albion would unite, but that was only a faraway dream for now.

“States.” The man spoke slowly to Merlin as though he was a child.

If the barkeep was telling him the truth, if he wasn't leading him astray, then something was wrong here. Merlin had to find out what. “I don't understand. Where am I?”

“You don't know where you are?” The barkeep looked at Merlin with suspicion.

“I don't remember.” The fib was close enough to the truth anyway. Merlin didn't know, which wasn't a far cry from what he'd stated.

“Told ya,” the man who kept commenting said. “He's hammered, and past redemption.”

Merlin was getting angry at this repeated mention of his drunkenness. He wanted to make a point here and this people weren't letting him. “I need to get to Camelot!” he said with more fervour than these people needed to hear.

“There's no Camelot here,” the barkeep answered. “Not in a thousand mile radius. And I don't know where you come from, mister, but all talk of kings is out in this here country. It's fucking 1882.”

“Say that again…”

The barkeep looked at Merlin as if he'd lost all his marbles. It was a look he used to get from a lot of people in Camelot, but far less benevolent. “It's fucking 1882.”

“1882?” Merlin was sure there had to be a mistake. “What, you mean the year? It can't be.”

“It's 1882, as true as I live ad breathe.”

That was when Merlin knew there was something very, very wrong with the situation he was in.

 

***** 

 

The world was ripped out from under Merlin's feet. He was falling into an abyss of his own making, into a hole so deep he couldn't see the light of day anymore. The notion took his breath, stifling it at the source. It broke his heart. It quashed all hope, the little strand of it that had kept him alive so far. 

It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. 1882. That was centuries ahead. So far into the future Merlin couldn't even imagine such a gap. He had indeed time travelled but in the wrong direction. Instead of giving himself a few days, he'd bypassed Arthur's death by centuries. This was more than an oversight on his part; his magic had failed him utterly. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream himself raw.

But he couldn't. He had to manage some self control. Perhaps if he sat down and thought he would find a solution. Despair could kick in when he hadn't found it. Now he had to find a key to this mess. Bring himself back rather than forward. There must be a way. There had to be if he was here now.

He was about to ask more questions, so as to form some kind of action plan, when a man entered the premises. He wasn't particularly tall, with a rough beard and dark bushy eyebrows, a hat slouched over his eyes. 

The girls upstairs fled into the inner room and the bar patrons took their eyes off the man. The barkeep muttered a few words under his breath, and a name, Maleagant, which Merlin understood to be the newcomer's.

Two henchmen appeared at Maleagant's side, two brutes with scarred faces and scary expressions. 

Maleagant approached the bar and said, “Do you have the money.”

“Not yet.” The barkeep was in a sweat. “It's slow season.”

“That doesn't please, me.” Maleagant said the words low, but they kept sounding ominous in spite of the calm tone in which they'd been uttered. “You're due. I want my money.”

The barkeep put a mound of coins and notes on the counter. “That's all I have.”

“That's a pittance.” Maleagant's eyes glinted malevolently. He grabbed the barkeep by the collar and said, “Do you need to be taught a lesson?”

“No, sir.” The barkeep stammered those two words. “I'll pay, honest.”

“I still think you need to learn how to deal with a gentleman honest and proper.” Maleagant let go of the barkeep and made a sign with his hand. 

His henchman, the one standing on the left, climbed the stairs and went into one of the rooms facing the landing. He dragged a girl out, kicking and screaming, shouting profanities. In spite of her volatile reaction, fear shone in her eyes. The henchman yanked the girl down the stairs and in the presence of Maleagant. When he gave her hair a pull, she screeched. But when he pointed a knife at her throat, she fell completely silent.

“One word from me,” Maleagant said, without finishing his sentence.

Merlin had seen enough. He could tell what would happen next. The girl would die. And if they spared her, she'd bear the memory of this for life, like a scar. He didn't think; he only acted on a wave of indignation. He unleashed a wave of magic at the henchman. Before he could touch the girl, the magic enveloped him and pulled him backwards, so he slammed against the wall.

The first henchman seen to, Merlin was about to direct his attention to the second one, when the latter levelled an object at him. It had a handle and a barrel. It didn't look like anything Merlin had ever seen.

It made a deafening noise. 

The pain bloomed late and surprising. Blood welled fast, red and dense, colouring his tunic a darker colour. Light-headedness came on the heels of it, just when Merlin's knees weakened and his body grew heavy. He impacted the ground with a thud that shook his own ears.

 

***** 

“Merlin,” the voice spoke to him out of a darkness pin-pricked with stars. “Wake up, Merlin.”

Merlin continued to wade through the obscurity, wandering on and on, walking the glassy light surface. He heard echoes and voices, some close, some far. Barring the dragon's, they were all unknown to him, a primordial chorus that spoke to his soul. Given that he couldn't understand what they were saying, their siren call, Merlin drifted on, touching the watery walls that held him in. 

“Merlin, you must wake up.”

Merlin came to with a somersault. His body burned, but his brow was cool with the pressure of a rag placed on it. “Where, where am I?” he asked, breathing quick.

The girl who was with him said, “At the saloon.”

Merlin remembered the place. He'd made it in from a traipse in the desert. He'd walked in asking for information about Camelot and all he'd got was the most heartbreaking piece of news since Arthur's death. He also recalled the girl who needed his help, this one, and the henchman who had felled him without sword or bow. The pain, if inexplicable, was very real. “Oh.”

“You're doing better than I thought you would, mister,” the girl said, dabbing at his brow though Merlin drew back from her ministrations. “But you still should have a lie down.”

“I can't.” It might seem strange considering I far forward he'd flung himself, but he had no time to waste. “I must get back.”

“You must go nowhere.” The girl placed a hand on his chest and pushed him down on the bed. It was wide but not comfortable, with thin blankets and flat pillows. “You must rest. You've lost quite a lot of blood.”

Dizzy as he was, Merlin knew she was right. If Gaius were here, he'd say the same thing. But Gaius wasn't here and that was part of the problem, a quandary Merlin was going to fix if it cost him his life. There was only one thing for it. He pulled the rag from his brow and stood. A wave of dizziness made him reel and seek support against the wall.

“Be like that,” the girl said, getting to her feet and placing her hands on her hips. “You can't go out anyway.”

“What do you mean I can't go out?” Merlin had to. He had to get somewhere he could be alone and use his magic. Not that he'd been that great at stealth today. He'd done magic in front of the whole tavern. It was kind of lucky he hadn't been strung up in a gibbet. “I'm in a hurry.”

“Maleagant's men are out and about.” As if to offer proof, she drew back the curtain. 

A group of men was patrolling the street, their strange weapons, which had wounded Merlin, out for show. Two stood at the mouth of the street, others at its end. One threatened a shopkeeper, dragging him into the street, despite the old age of the latter. A woman by the shop suffered the same fate; she went to her knees crying. “But they must be stopped.” He wanted to go down there himself. Right now. A wave of dizziness nearly toppled him when he moved. “They can't act like that.”

“They shouldn't,” the girl said, “but they very much can.”

“You have to rebel.”

“How?” the girl raised her eyebrows in a way that would have made Gaius proud. “We're farmers, settlers. Not soldiers. Those men are armed to the teeth, mercenaries, ex army men. They know how to fight.”

Merlin remembered Ealdor, how his people led by his mum – gods, his mum – had stood up to Kanen and his men. “It doesn't mean you can't win. It doesn't mean you can't put up a fight.”

“It's easy for you to say.” The girl shrugged her shoulders. “They're not at your throat.”

She was right. And Merlin felt for her, the situation she was in, the whole village was in. This place was odd and incomprehensible to Merlin in more ways than one, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel for the plight of New Town's inhabitants, that he couldn't wish them well. “I'm sorry.”

“Instead of being sorry,” the girl said, “why don't you help us fight?”

“What?” Merlin did a double take, his thoughts having drifted off to Arthur and his plans to save him. 

“I saw what you can do,” the girl said. “What you did in there. If you do more of that, we could be rid of Maleagant for good.”

“I can't,” was the only answer Merlin could give. 

“You're right.” The girl examined his wound. “You must learn how to dodge bullets first, but if you do, you can help us defeat Maleagant.” She paused, took his hand. “Say that you will.”

“I'd love to.” He was honest there. If this was any other time in his life, he would take up the mantle gladly. “But I can't.” 

The girl studied his face as though it was a book of arcane magic. “Say rather that you won't.”

Merlin could be honest with her. He could tell her about Arthur and his need to travel back in time. But it was too personal, too much a part of his heart for him to be able to share. Besides, even if he did, there was a fair chance she wouldn't believe him. She was aware of his magic. But that didn't mean she'd get time travel itself. He had a hard time coming to terms himself. “I'm on a mission.”

“Yeah, sure.” She stepped away from the window.

“I would help if I could.” Merlin was being honest here. “But there's someone else who needs me and if I don't step in, he's…” Never going to come back.

“So you're all talk and no action.” The girl shooed him towards the bed and pushed him to seat on it. The frame creaked. “Good to know.”

“Look,” Merlin said, “I'd love to help, but—”

The girl cut an old skirt into rags. “Save your breath. I know you're like the others. You won't help.”

Since Merlin had refused to involve himself, he could say nothing. Shame burned his throat and put near tears in his eyes. But it didn't move him to take his words back, to offer support. He had to think of getting back to the past, of saving Arthur. He had a feeling that the longer he waited, the longer he passively stayed here, the more he would end up stuck. But he didn't know how to free himself from this timeline yet. He could try his magic again, but he couldn't be sure he wouldn't make another mistake. And if he made another, who could assure him he could get back to Camelot? He was not omnipotent. 

Knowing that his objective put him at odds with the girl, he kept silent. She might have walked away; she might have turned him out. But she didn't. As though she was Gaius, she took care of his wound and gave him a medicament. “It's for headaches, but it might as well work for wounds.”

“Thanks,” he said.

She didn't answer.

 

***** 

Merlin recovered more quickly than he would have expected. The first day he could barely stand. The second day, he was able to wander around Elaine's room – the girl did introduce herself after a day spent in near sulky silence – without feeling too depleted. At night his wound still hurt, but when he surreptitiously took away the bandages, he noticed it had closed already, the markings knitting together in a system of scabs, bridges of skin forming where there had been a hole before. All puffiness had gone, and the tissue, while tender, looked whole. He'd done days of healing in one. It was unprecedented. He hadn't been such a great patient before. 

In his years of service to Arthur he'd collected many wounds and minor scrapes. He still bore the scars. None of them had healed as easily or quickly. Something had changed. He wasn't in a frame of mind to ask himself what. He only thought of doing something about Arthur, getting back to him. Only prudence stayed his hand. And the desire to recover before he tried his hand at magic again.

The sleepless nights weren't helping. Every time he fell asleep a voice called to him. It was powerful, deep. It resonated within his soul. “Merlin,” it'd call out, waking him without fail. Not knowing what it belonged to, whether hallucination or monster, Merlin refused to answer it. He turned on his side and fastened his eyes. 

Elaine wasn't turning him out, so Merlin stayed with her. During the day it was calm enough. Sometimes someone swore so loudly as to make him somersault. Ribald music would play and laughter would echo round the premises. At night though, it'd be much louder.

So Merlin'd try to sleep it off, but he couldn't because the voice would come back. At first it would just call his name. But then it started saying strings of phrases to him and bid him to come. Merlin woke every time and went to the window. He would watch the starry night and try to pinpoint the voice's source. It wasn't anyone close. There was no one in the room with him and no one in the street or on the lower floor could sound as though they were there with him.

It had to be magic. There was no other explanation for it. But what kind and from what creature it issued there was no telling. He could talk to the entity addressing him, but he was afraid it was a bad idea. You just didn't start talking with magical beings for no reason. Not all of them were good. Not all of them were out there to help. Especially were Arthur was concerned.

So he didn't reply to it. Not until the fifth night struck and he was practically healed.

“Merlin,” the voice said.

“Who are you?” Merlin screwed his eyes tight, but he his mouth shaped the words.

“I've been waiting for someone like you.”

“What do you mean?” Through the years Merlin had learnt not to be naïve when it came to creatures of power. Many were as good as he could wish them to be, the mirror he wanted Arthur to look into. But some were not and he was in a situation that didn't allow for any mistakes. “Who are you?”

“Come to me, Emrys,” the voice said. “And you will know.”

***** 

On the morning of the sixth day when the sun was still pale in the sky, Merlin walked out into the desert. This time he had a hat, food and water. A horse to ride on. Focusing on the power tugging at him, he galloped west, towards the skyline. He passed dry areas littered with scattered sagebrush and low-level trees. The earth was powdery, compact, rocks pebbling it, craggy rock formations rising east and west, forming natural valleys carpeted with more of those stubby trees with pointed needles. They penetrated clothing and punctured the leather of Merlin's boots, but he was not in a mood to pay attention to trifles like that, so he motioned his horse on, through flat and rising ground, till he came to a sheltered waterway, dug out of walls of rock.

He tethered the horse by a felled trunk, and went to the stream. Though by now it was so hot Merlin's skin burned, the water bubbled fresh and Merlin knelt by the brook and drank from it. Concentrating on the call, he stood motionless by its bank, until he could heed it again in all its force. 

Moving upwards by putting his feet in the crevices between red rocks, he climbed then, He went up and up, till the ascent became vertical and he stood on a ridge that overlooked the desert in both directions. A cave opened onto a rock ledge. The voice seemed to be calling from the inside.

At its threshold Merlin hesitated. On the one hand he didn't know what was urging him on. It could be some evil power luring him in. He'd had occasion to come across many enemies during his service to Arthur. He had experience of the. This could be one such circumstance. On the other, he'd come out here for a reason. And that was to find out what the voice was and whether it could help him go back to his own time and Arthur. 

With his magic, he conjured a light. It hovered over his shoulder, shedding light around him. His step unsure, Merlin entered the cave, following the echo of the voice summoning him. He left behind the light of the day and marched into the depths of the cavern. 

Its tunnels became narrower and narrower, lower and lower. And before long, Merlin had to stoop so as to be able to get ahead. At last the tunnel he was in widened and he came upon a large octagonal chamber with an opening on top. Bright crystals paved it and hung from the ceiling in vaults of white, cerulean, and pink. Light reflected off of them in a dazzling shower of brightness. 

Under the vault, a dragon lay. It was larger than Kilgharrah, the span of his wings double than that of Merlin's old friend. He was just as scaly, with the pupils of his eyes just as slit-like, his tail ending in an arrow of carapace, his claws curved and pointed. “Merlin,” the dragon said when he set eyes on him. “I've long waited for a dragonlord.”

“You had no one to speak to?” If Merlin had been the last centuries ago, then this creature must have suffered tremendously.

“Some men were more gifted than others at talking to us,” the dragon said. “But dragons were mostly alone with no guide among men.”

“I thought Kilgharrah, who was my friend, was the last one.” Kilgharrah had surely let Merlin understand as much. Barring Aithusa, of course.

The new dragon spread out his wings and sidled in place. The cave rumbled and some crystals fell. Merlin had to dive to avoid being hit by them. Once he'd dusted himself he was again ready to listen.

The dragon said, “There were a few of us in this part of the world, not many.”

“I see.” They were far enough from Albion, Merlin gathered that this was possible. Kilgharrah must simply have not known about this other dragon species. “I'm sorry there are so few of you.”

“Me too, son of man, me too,” the dragon said. “That's why I called you to me. You have to help me find other dragons so that our species can continue.”

“I would love to.” Merlin's heart strings were snapping for this new dragon. He couldn't bear for him to be lonely, down trodden. Ever since Arthur's passing Merlin understood loneliness far too well. He got what it meant not to have someone to rely on, to be a part of you in ways that others didn't grasp, the other side to your coin. “But I can't.”

“A dragonlord can't abandon a dragon in need.”

Merlin felt that to his very core. He could recognise the call of this dragon, feel it in the very knit of his bones. Denying it was like ripping a limb from himself. Choosing death would have been far easier. But there was a higher call still, the bond he had to Arthur. That he couldn't ignore. It had been years between them, years that he couldn't forget, however easier it would have been. “I need to help my friend.”

“One thing doesn't preclude another.”

“See, I can't stay here,” Merlin told the new dragon. “I have to go back. Where I come from. To save a friend, who—” Merlin couldn't bring himself to say 'who died', couldn't make that a reality by way of wording, so he opted for something different. “—will die if I don't get back to him in time.”

Flames issued from the dragon's nostrils. “You can do both. Help me find a mate. I'll help you find your friend.”

“Getting back to him isn't so easy.” Merlin wasn't ready to stake everything on another magical mishap. Another mistake and the gods alone knew whether he would go back to his original timeline or be forever stranded.

“Neither is finding dragons,” the dragon said. “This land is old, ravaged by men. My species was hunted.”

Dragons had always been feared, Merlin got that. He'd failed them, in more ways than one. If he'd been a proper dragon lord there'd be more of them around. Aithusa would have prospered; instead of serving Morgana, she might have been the first in a line of powerful new dragons. But he'd short changed them all and they all were where they were. He had to do something. “Is this a pact?”

“The most solemn of all,” the dragon said, smoke coming out of his nostrils. “It's written in the blood both of us share.”

Merlin had no cause to disbelieve the dragon. “What's your name?” he asked.

“Kandor,” the dragon said. “And my sire was Grendel.”

Merlin nodded, the names already embedded in his memory. “There's another favour I'd ask of you.”

“Speak, and I'll grant you a boon, dragonlord.”

Without hesitation, Merlin said, “The people of the town I'm living in are in trouble.”

“I do not concern myself with the troubles of men.” The dragon folded himself and rubbed his head against his wing. “They've never helped us. Rather hunted us. I don't see why I should lend my enemy a hand.”

“One of them took me in.” Merlin had no idea why Elaine had done so. She wasn't rich, he knew. And she was dependent on the saloon owner for her livelihood. But she had taken him under her wing and he owed her. “Tended to me when I had a mishap with a strange weapon. I need to help her in return.”

“Why?”

“Because now I have the power to.” With a dragon for a friend, Merlin was no longer helpless, no longer alone. “So I must redress the balance.” Arthur would want him to. Provided the dragon helped him, he could save Arthur and assist the village.

“So be it,” the dragon said. “As long as you remember my promise to help me.”

“I will.” Merlin couldn't forget it. It was already a bond. “It's a solemn vow.”

On his way out, Merlin lingered at the mouth of the cave. Night was giving way to day and the blue starry sky was paling at the edges. But for the sounds of nature, it was silent, a grandiose vista of rock and glimmering heavens. Merlin wished Arthur could see it too.

[ ](http://s845.photobucket.com/user/pouletroti/media/west2.jpg.html)

 

***** 

When he got back to New Town, he found all its inhabitants in the main square. Groups of mothers huddled together on one side of it; shop owners on the other. Farmers were in the middle. They were all talking at the same time, without listening to one another, voices twining. “We need more money,” one old man shouted. “Or he'll come again and it'll be a nightmare. He'll destroy us.”

One of the mothers, her child standing by her, said, “I've already given all that I had.”

A chorus answered her, expressing much the same sentiment.

A man wearing a star on his chest said, “Those who can must pay; and pay double for those who can't.”

Elaine stepped forward. “We must put up a fight! We can't allow Maleagant to take our livelihoods, and our freedom. Or he'll never stop. He must learn we're not easy victims.”

“But we are,” the mother told her, then starting to address the rest of the populace, she added, “Maleagant has mercenaries, men for hire, some of whom are wanted in more than one state.” She used her hand to gesture at the people gathered in the square. “And what are we? Settlers, farmers, wives. We'll never win against him. We'd better take that into stride, and suit our actions to our needs.”

“And what do we do the next time?” Elaine crossed her arms. “Because there'll be a next time. And by then we won't have anything anymore.”

Voices joined together in a chorus. Most were against Elaine and siding with the mother. They wanted their peace and quiet and, if by bowing their heads they had it, then they thought meekness was the right choice. Almost no one disagreed with this stance.

Merlin took a step forward, walking in the midst of them. “I would say a word.” He wished he had Arthur's skills at speech making because they would help him here. It was just another one of the things that made him want Arthur alive. But he was alone now and he had to succeed by himself. In a way that would make Arthur proud. “Elaine is right, you can't do what you propose. It'd buy you time, true.” Better be reasonable with these people. Admit that they had a point. “But you'd be in the same situation a few months from now.” Much like Merlin's people had been when facing Kanen. “Fight now and be rid of them forever.”

“Who are you to tell us that?” a farmer asked. “We don't know you from Adam.”

“If you want to settle here well and good.” A woman picked up on that. “But you don't get to make decisions for us, no sir.”

“I can help you.” Merlin had the means now. He would do it. “Listen to me, I can do something for you. But you must let yourselves be helped.”

He was shut down by a chorus of protests. One villager showed him the weapon that had downed Merlin during his previous encounter with Maleagant. Others shooed him away. Merlin knew he couldn't convince them, not without a show of strength, something he was averse to doing right now. So he retired beneath the eaves of the store, standing on the walkway that led from it the other shops. He let them discuss the issue among themselves.

Later up in the hotel Merlin told Elaine. “I'll help them all the same. Even if they have no trust in me. I'm used to it.”

“Can you really?” Elaine asked, eyes sparking with hope. “With your…” She wiggled her fingers.

“Yes.” Though Merlin wasn't alone in this. “I can.”

“Then I hope you succeed.”

 

*****

With the day dawning behind him in streaks of pink, Merlin climbed his way back to the cave, his back to the cold night desert. He penetrated deep into the cave and stopped by a cluster of crystals. They were of different colours, but reflective, and Merlin could see himself in them. He picked a few and spoke words of magic over them. The magic flew from him into the fragments he'd picked. Under its influence, they brightened and glowed, changing shape till they became a perfect pair of reflecting goggles, much like the glasses Gaius wore, but thicker.

With these in hand, Merlin ran into the depth of the cave, towards the chamber inhabited by the dragon. “I've come for you,” Merlin said. “You must let me fly with you.”

“Fly?” the dragon yawned. “Fly, what for?”

“To put fear in the hearts of evil men.” Merlin climbed onto the dragon's back, pulling the goggles over his eyes. “Let's go now. There's no time!”

They flew over stretches of desert, over valleys circumscribed by walls of red rock, over brooks running crystalline across gorges, and over farms wrested from arid land. The experience wasn't new for Merlin. Flying on a dragon was something he'd done before. The last time he'd been on one, he was with Arthur, fighting against time, hoping that Arthur would cling to life as long as possible. Tough that memory pained him like a fresh wound every time he thought of it, the experience of flying never failed to touch something in Merlin, something deep that lay at his core. He felt at one with the dragon, at one with nature, at one with the world, even this one, which was so strange to him. 

New Town lay north, so they adjusted course, with the dragon planing over the main street. 

A posse of ten men on horseback was running up and down the street, firing into windows, and yelling at the town dwellers, rounding them up and along, till they screamed at the top of their lungs.

“There's something I need you to do,” Merlin told the dragon in the dragon tongue. “I need you to take out those people on horseback.”

“As you wish, Merlin.” The dragon swooped lower. 

In a beat of wings he came down upon the city. Talons out, he herded the invaders together, breathing fire upon them when they used their weapons on the people of New Town, or on the dragon himself. These could do little against the scales of such a massive dragon as Kandor, ricocheting him without wounding the animal.

At first the town dwellers screamed in fright, pointing at the beast, running away from it, but when they noticed that the beast was only attacking Maleagant's men, they started cheering, hands up in the air. And when the dragon, breathing fire, downed three henchmen, they started fighting back. They took up arms, farms implements for the most part, and used them on their enemies. 

Whenever one seemed in dire straits, Kandor winged his way over and helped, grabbing the attackers between his claws, and taking flight, dropping them into the abyss opening over New Town. 

At length the mercenaries left alive were gathered together in the town square. 

The dragon landed before them, Merlin on his back. He addressed the now cowering men, most of the wounded and weaponless. “Tell your master that this city is free,” Merlin told them. “Tell him that it is protected by Kandor.” He patted the dragon's back, his palm touching the carapace-like texture of his skin. “If he ever threatens this town again, he'll burn, if he behaves as an enemy to this place, he'll burn, if he ever so much as tries to set foot in it, he'll burn.”

The henchmen nodded, quaking in their boots.

“Have you got the message?”

“Yes,” they answered with a quavering voice, all together, as if prompted by the same instinct.

“Now go,” Merlin said, “before I change my mind and take you out.”

The henchmen took off, stumbling away in fear, tottering into a run that soon saw them on horseback.

Before the inhabitants of New Town could gather round him in thanks, Merlin ordered Kandor to take off again. The dragon flapped his wings and was airborne, cleaving the white sky together with the eagles. When he landed, it was on a ledge of rock overlooking the brown desert.

His goggles having shown him his goal, the magic still present in this world, Merlin took them off. He slid off Kandor's back. He patted his haunches and said, “Now the time has come for me to repay you for your help.”

“My kind,” Kandor said. “Help me find others of my kind.”

Merlin closed his eyes and focused on his powers, on the spark that made him what he was. Suddenly, he wasn't seeing darkness anymore but vast plains cut across by rivers and tall mountains covered with snow, the sea infinite and blue, and islands amidst it covered in trees that vied with one another in height. Leaning close to Kandor, he whispered to him in the language that bound them, revealing secrets only the earth knew of.

 

**** 

He was falling, back through time and through space. He was in a black hole pinpricked by stars. He was in the veil between worlds, with all of time peeking through the rips. He saw wars taking place, the world take itself apart. He glimpsed peace and splendour, gilded palaces and burgeoning cities, villages expanding. He caught sight of masses of people going about their lives, being born, growing, dying. 

He landed on hard soil, right at the mouth of the Crystal Cave. He saw himself talking to Gwaine, heard himself dismiss him. “I can make my own way from here,” his other self said, surprising Gwaine.

“Sorry?”

The other Merlin, the one from this rightful timeline, spoke and Merlin knew with what a heavy heart he'd explained. “You needn't come any further.” Gwaine hadn't seemed reassured, so he added. “I'll be fine.”

 

“How will you get back to Camelot?” Gwaine asked, ever thoughtful despite the devil may care exterior. “There are bandits everywhere.”

 

“Once I have what I'm looking for, I'll be perfectly safe.” The other Merlin was being cagey, cryptic, but that was the only way to be to keep a secret. “I promise you.”

 

Gwaine was clearly worried because he probed. “What are you looking for?”

 

“I can't tell you that, Gwaine.” Merlin watched himself keep his secrets close to his chest and that broke his heart as much as it had done in the moment the words were spoken. “You'll just have to trust me.”

 

“You should get going. Arthur will need you at his side.” Gwaine didn't know how ironic he was being, how his words were leaving a mark on Merlin. “Look after yourself, Merlin.” He handed him a sword, it was a good sword, light but sharp, perfect for Merlin. “You know to use the sharp end, right?”

Merlin took it, his heart breaking in two over a bloody sword. 

“I hope you find what you're looking for,” Gwaine told him before giving him a pat on the back, a lingering look, and mounting back on horseback.

Now that the Merlin from this timeline was alone, Merlin saw his chance. He had to stop the other him from entering the crystal cave; he had to save himself from being buried in it. The answers were so simple and the truth was Merlin had never needed the cave to come into his own, to be Emrys. 

“Merlin,” he called out from his hiding place, trying not to think about how odd this was, how unnatural. “Merlin, stop, don't go into the cave!”

The other Merlin stiffened, his shoulders hardening in a fighting stance. He whirled around with fear and determination in his eyes, the sword Gwaine had given him pointing outwards.

Even knowing how rash that was, Merlin rushed over to him. “Merlin—” This was like having some kind of internal monologue, just a little more explicit. Surely Merlin could manage persuading himself. He'd done it in the past; only then there hadn't been two of him. “Merlin, you must stop.”

The other Merlin's eyes grew round and big. “This is— this is impossible.”

“I know it looks like that.” Merlin wasn't sure what to say. He just knew he had to solve the quandary they were in. And save Arthur. This had been the entire point of the exercise. “But I assure you, there's a perfectly logical explanation for this.” Once magic was taken into account, of course. “You must heed me.”

“No.” The other Merlin shook his head and bit his lip. “This is a trap. You're a wraith, a creation of Morgana's.”

Merlin hadn't known he could be this stubborn. He felt renewed pity for Gaius. Putting up with him mustn't have been so easy. “Do I look like I could come from Morgana to you?”

“She's powerful.” The other Merlin gritted his teeth. 

Merlin knew himself enough to understand his other self was preparing to fight, to mistrust his interlocutor, to stop the person putting himself between him and Arthur. In this case, this was so, so wrong. When had Merlin lost all his trust in others? Probably the day he made an irrevocable enemy of Morgana. “I know why you think so, but she had nothing to do with this. I am you.” He was being as honest as he'd ever been. “I can prove it to you.”

The other Merlin's brow creased. “How?”

Reading doubt on his own face made Merlin sure he could move his other self, that he could make him understand, however strange the truth must look like. “I know something about you—” He raised an eyebrow. “—that no one else knows—”

“You know that I have magic—” the other Merlin pre-empted him. “Of course you do. Morgana's found out.”

Merlin waved both his arms about. “It's not something so easy as that.” When Merlin had said 'no one' he'd meant it. This was something both his mother and Gaius ignored, something not even Lancelot had come close to suspecting, though Merlin had sometimes believed he might. “This is the secret you don't dare speak to yourself, the one you suppress constantly, every day, every hour, every waking moment.” Even now the thought of it brought pain, so much pain it was quite unbounded. “This is the one thing you won't admit to yourself or will only when you're in a panic, afraid of losing everything.”

The other Merlin dropped the sword Gwaine had given him, the sword he'd been holding up right until this moment. “You can't.” Merlin swung his head from side to side. “There's no way…”

“You love Arthur.” The admission seared Merlin's own lungs, and he'd have wished it unsaid but for how serious this was. It was the one truth that might convince his other self as to the genuineness of his words. “You love Arthur so much it's taken over your life, you love him so much you'd give everything up for him. You love Arthur so much you'd die for him.”

The other Merlin had tears in his eyes.

Merlin knew he had to be merciless now. “But if you don't listen to me it's Arthur who'll die.”

The other Merlin gasped, palming his heart as though somebody had ran a lance through it. “No.”

“Yes.” Merlin had to make his other self see. “So you must do as I say.”

The other Merlin nodded. “All right. Tell me what's on your mind.”

“You can't go into the cave because Morgana has prepared a trap for you—” It was so hard speaking of himself as if he were another person, but Merlin was having the best go at it that he could. 

“But if I don't go into the cave—” Merlin's tone dripped with the pain of loss. “I won't get my magic back.”

Merlin channelled his own father before he spoke. “You don't need the cave. Because you're Emrys.”

“You don't understand.” The other Merlin, this past self of his, sounded really scared.

Merlin understood. He was still living on fear. It was still propelling him forwards. “I do. You don't need that cave to access your power.” If Merlin had seen inside himself sooner a lot of what had happened wouldn't have taken place. (Though now there was scope to change that.) “You need to look into yourself and admit you're Emrys.”

“But Emrys is just a legend.”

“No.” Merlin had experienced it with his own body, with his own soul. “He's what you are.” His father had probably cleared this up much better. “You must believe that you are your powers; that you're inseparable from them.”

The other Merlin nodded his understanding. “What about you? I mean there's two of us.”

“There needn't be,” Merlin said, offering his hand his other self. “I'm you and you are me.”

The other Merlin took his hand, fitting his palm to his, a perfect match of shape and size. 

A warm glow, a bright cloud, surrounded them both. The heat started at their hands and little by little encompassed their bodies. Merlin felt himself die then, his perceptions dwindling to nothing, his heartbeat slowing, merging with another.

He didn't want to go, but he had no other choice.

 

**** 

When he saw the tent, the one with the royal banner unfurling on top, Merlin spurred his horse. He was a few yards from its entrance, when he jumped down, letting his mount go wherever it willed. At the tent's threshold two guards barred his way, crossing lances. Merlin said, “I need to speak to the king.” Even as he spoke, he tried to sneak under the barrier. “I'm his manservant.”

“No one's allowed in,” the lancer said, assuming that blank, unflinching stare that sentries tended to have. “King's orders.”

“No, you don't understand.” Why were things being so difficult, why was this spoke being put in Merlin's wheel? He was so close to getting to Arthur, saving him. “I must speak to him.”

“No one's allowed in.” The lancer lifted his chin. “King's orders.”

There was nothing for it, with a touch of magic, Merlin caused the lances to veer apart, and he sneaked under, yelling, “Arthur. Arthur it's me, Merlin!”

Arthur was bent at the map table and turned around at the noise. At sight of Merlin, his eyes widened, filled with an emotion he shut down with a clenching of his jaw.

For his part, Merlin was overwhelmed. His eyes watered, his heart stopped beating, and he felt like he couldn't breathe. This was Arthur. The man he'd watched die. The man he hadn't been able to hold on to when everything in him wanted to. And he was alive, living and breathing. He looked drawn and tired, pale, brow crinkling from all the worry, but he also appeared full of strength and might, full of life and the beauty of that, of the energy that pulsed through him. It was too much to take in. Too much to parse and fully understand.

His heart clenching, breaking in two, Merlin crashed to his knees. He cried openly then, letting the tears course down his cheeks in unstoppable rivers, letting out ugly sobs he couldn't stop no matter how cruelly he bit his lips. 

Arthur sighed, rubbed at his temples, smiled and said, “Come on, Merlin, you got here late enough.” His smile widened, got quite giddy. “The last thing I need you to do is be a girl's petticoat about it.”

In spite of the tears Merlin's lips creased. “I can't believe it,” he said, even while knowing that Arthur wouldn't understand, would think him more of a weakling. “I don't.”

Arthur advanced towards him. He put a hand on Merlin's shoulder and helped him up, studying his face as if Merlin had changed irreversibly from the last time he'd seen him. Which he might as well have, only Arthur had no way of knowing. “Merlin, I don't know what you're talking about, but you look like you've already fought the battle.” 

Merlin had and he'd travelled through time too, so he felt like he'd been wrung out to dry. But that didn't matter, it had no importance in the least. Arthur was here and alive and Merlin had to refrain from the urge of patting him down to check he was all right. He was. He was alive and well, worried perhaps, strained, with dark circles under his eyes, but he was also unquestionably living and breathing.

“I've come to fight by your side.” Merlin had rather not fight at all. He wasn't a soldier by nature, but nothing would ever keep him from being with Arthur. Whatever happened, at least now he had a chance. 

“That's good of you, Merlin,” Arthur said, “not that your presence will do much in the face of Morgana's army, but—” His lips tilted sideways and the expression in his eyes gentled by a lot. “But I'm glad you're here.” He straightened, stood taller, but with his head bent in contrition. “What I said in Camelot… about your bravery. I didn't honestly mean it.”

“No, I know.” At least Merlin hoped so. “I disappointed you and—”

“No more talk of that—” Arthur reddened, a flush that crept from his neck, right above his hauberk, to his face, and herded him towards the map table. “Now we have something else to think about.”

“Yes, about that.” Merlin swallowed. The time for it had come. He could keep silent and lose the battle, the battle that meant Arthur's life, the security of his kingdom. Or he could come clear and play all his cards openly. “There's something I've got to tell you.”

“What can it be, Merlin?” Arthur rubbed Merlin's shoulder with his palm, his lips tilted up at the corners. “Surely, it can wait.”

Arthur persisted in not understanding, Merlin saw. Not that it was anything new. Merlin had lied about his magic, pretended he was something he wasn't, if only by wilful omission. Arthur though had always been stubborn in his blindness, in his inability to intuit the truth. Now the time had come for Merlin to show his hand, to commit to the truth. To take a step there was no coming back from. Closing his eyes, he focused on the warmth inside him. In his palm a flame started dancing, its contours changing with the breeze that swept into the tent, its core orange, bright. 

Arthur stepped back, eyes huge, face ashen with dread, disappointment, rage.

 

***** 

The battle hadn't started yet. The army of Camelot was protected by a hill system that rose behind its rear flanks. The front lines faced Morgana's mercenaries, a sea of them, clad in black, their shields glimmering in the red light that came from the sky, a sky ready to mourn the greatest king Albion had ever known.

Merlin watched from the top of the highest hill, his staff out. He wore no beard this time, no long tunic to denote an old age he wasn't master of, never would be, but his servant's clothes, the stained kerchief that had seen him through so much. But the staff, he kept. It was good for channelling power, directing it minutely wherever Merlin wanted it to strike.

When Arthur gave the order, his soldiers struck forward. At sight of their advance, Mordred lifted his arm, causing his own troops to meet Arthur's in the middle. The ground thundered with the footsteps of thousands of men, the whole valley resounding with their echo. The air filled with battle cries. When the mêlée started, Merlin stepped in, raining lightning on Morgana's forces, blasting at them with the forces of air and wind, drumming them with all the true heft and power of his magic.

Morgana's army suffered heavy losses, bodies strewn on the field of Camlann. Heaps of them lying on the ground like broken dolls, limbs torn from their trunks, their spines bent, crooked. 

But to Merlin it simply didn't matter. His magic could level armies. He already knew that. He'd been here once before. He'd lived through Camlann once already. He knew the outcome. To change that he needed to focus on Arthur, on preserving his life. There was only one way of doing that.

With his magic, he sought out the strands of another's, one he knew well. Merlin couldn't recognise the warlock by their magic, but he could sense magic in a warlock. But in this case it was all different, because the filament's of this person's power had been known to him for years, ever since he first saw him: Mordred. 

He found him now, his power shining bright even in spite of his betrayal of Arthur, a beacon that towered over the life forces of others. It was him Merlin had to plough down, his existence the one he had to cut short.

Since becoming Emrys he brimmed with power. The snuffing out of Mordred's life would be easy, he knew. He had no qualms either. Mordred was old enough by now and he'd chosen his path, like Merlin had always suspected he would. But he couldn't do it in one fell swoop. He couldn't take him down without mourning him first, the magic in him that could have been used to such rich purpose. 

But Mordred had sighted Arthur and there was no time for hesitation. Merlin took the strings that formed Mordred's life. They were bright and vibrant, cords of magic fastened with knots that came from the earth, the very soil of Albion. Merlin's eyes glowed; his lips formed words he didn't even need to shout. 

Mordred folded in on himself like a puppet whose strings had been severed. Life left him with a sigh, without a fight. 

But the battle of Camlann raged on. 

 

****** 

In the tent a brazier burned, its embers glowing a deep red, its ashes smouldering. Arthur was sitting in a throne-like chair, Gwen at his feet, holding his hand. His arm bled through his bindings in dark splotches, the wound caused by a thin dagger that sliced deep. His face was dirty with mud, streaked with sweat, his hair plastered to his skull.

Merlin stopped midway to the chair.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, wincing.

“The battle's won, my lord.” Merlin bowed deep.

“I'll go,” Gwen said, standing and brushing the skirts of her red gown. “You'd better sort this out.”

Arthur clung to her hand, but a reproving look from Gwen made him let go. As she passed him, she squeezed Merlin's arm. But she didn't say a word and Merlin had no idea whether she had forgiven him the lie or not. He would make sure they stayed friends. He wanted that. He had hope they would be, for Gwen had heart. It was Arthur who scared him; Arthur who wouldn't see.

“You saved Camelot,” Arthur said, interrupting Merlin's reverie. 

“You did with your stand.” Merlin could never forget Arthur's courage in the battle. Many a time during it, he'd feared for his life, dreaded the outcome. Even if Arthur had been saved from Mordred that didn't mean he would be fine at the end of the day. Merlin had watched the fray with his heart in his throat. “That's what saved us all. Your choices as king.”

“Those have little to do with what happened.” Arthur stared straight ahead, his gaze not touching Merlin. “We both know that.”

Merlin shook his head. How could Arthur be so mistaken? How could he downplay his own efforts? “That's not true. Deep down you know it!”

“Deep down—” Arthur sprang to his feet. “I don't know anything anymore!”

“I've lost your trust, haven't I?” Merlin would rather have that than Arthur dead. He'd erased that past, he was now ready to forge a new future.

“No.” Arthur's gaze snapped onto Merlin. “I know you're on my side.”

“Then—” Merlin shook his head. He failed to understand any of this.

“I don't know you, do I?” Arthur's voice got hoarse at the end. “I don't doubt you won me Camlann. I don't think you've allied yourself with Morgana. But the truth is I still don't know you, do I?”

“I can tell you.” Merlin had no other way to make up for the years he'd kept his secret. “I had my reasons not to— before.”

Arthur paced up and down, hands on his hips and then through his hair. He sat down, then got up again. He murmured to himself, he locked himself in a deep silence. He went back and forth again, dismissing the knights who'd come to him with reports. At last he told Merlin, “The ban on magic.”

“Yes.”

“I would like to tell you I would have made an exception for you,” Arthur said, his gaze lost and faraway. “But I'm not sure I would have. I never repealed it, did I?”

“What about now?” Merlin had no hope for himself. But now that Arthur was here to stay, he could maybe make a difference for other magic users, for other people like Merlin. Perhaps future generations of warlocks would be citizens of a world in which they were free. Free to be as Merlin had never been. “Will you change the law?”

“I'll have to think about it.” Arthur frowned deep. “Morgana is defeated but still at large.”

“Would you stop your subjects from acquiring swords?”

Arthur looked nonplussed with his brow creased and his mouth still agape. “What?”

“That's an easy question, Arthur.” Merlin knew Arthur was tired and wary when it came to magic. But these were notions he would have to face sooner than later. “Would you prevent a commoner, say a blacksmith, from acquiring a sword?”

“Of course not!”

“But he might kill with that sword.”

Comprehension seemed to dawn in Arthur. “But magic is a completely different thing. A powerful witch or warlock can do much more evil than a single man at arms.”

“Perhaps.” Nimueh had done so and so had Morgana. Mordred too ever since he'd switched sides. “But the intent is no different. A person can be trusted with magic the same way they can be allowed the use of sharp objects.” Aglain had been a good wielder of magic and so had Yseldir. “ It's up to them to choose what to do with their power.”

“Let's say I grant you that,” Arthur said. “I still have to think of the well being of Camelot first. I cannot pit the few against the many.”

Arthur was thinking of the common wealth, Merlin got that, but he forgot the outliers, those nature had made different. “You'd be granting rights, not taking them away. And making the crown new friends.”

“How do I know that?” Arthur inclined his head. “I haven't met a single warlock I could trust.”

The blow landed with its full force. “I know you can't trust me now. But maybe we can meet in the middle.”

Arthur strode up to him. “I don't want to meet in the middle, Merlin,” Arthur said. “I want things to be as they were.”

They hadn't changed for Merlin. Because he knew what he'd almost lost, he'd fight ten times more to get into Arthur's good graces again. “We can't do it all tonight. Maybe we'll need to talk to get back where we were.” When Merlin saw hope spark in Arthur's eyes, he knew they were on the same page. “But if we show the good will to do it….”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “Yes.”

“One step at a time.”

 

***** 

 

The dawn was red like it was in the desert. The air was cold, crisp, in a way the lands Merlin had stumbled to could never be, if not at night. With the battle over, the land was at peace, at least for now. In his tent, Arthur slept, while Merlin was out here on the outcrop, looking to the sky, looking to nature for comfort.

Somewhere far away, over the vast stretches of the land of Albion, Kilgharrah flew. And somewhere more distant still, a place separated from him by eons of time, two new dragons rushed across the heavens, their tails twining in the symbol of forever.

 

The End.


End file.
